


First Communion

by morning_coffee



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cults, Eldritch Monsters, Forced/Unwanted Arousal, Horror, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Other, Sex Magic, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-12-29 00:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21145979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morning_coffee/pseuds/morning_coffee
Summary: "What do you think?" Jack snaps. "I'm tied up and about to be a human sacrifice for some wacky kind of fantasy monster. Of course I'm not fucking okay!"





	First Communion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badritual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/gifts).

"Accept the undercover gig, they said. It'll look good on your resumé, they said. That cult's just a bunch of harmless weirdos, they said," Jack quietly mutters, staring at the ceiling. 

Talking to himself is probably not a good sign. A concussion, perhaps. Or maybe he's going insane. But that's the least of his concerns right now, because if he doesn't get out of here soon, long-term health consequences are unlikely to be something he needs to be worried about anymore.

"You okay, buddy? Hanging in there?" 

One of the cult members leans over him with a cheerful smile. Jack needs a moment to recognize him from this perspective, with the guy's head upside down above him. It's Tobias, the handsome young acolyte who kept flirting with him before Jack's cover was blown and everything went to hell. Jack had _liked_ the guy, dammit.

He angrily jerks at his bonds. The silky-smooth ropes wrapped around his wrists and ankles are surprisingly comfortable and soft, but they hold him down unrelentingly no matter how much he pulls and tugs at them. 

"What do you think?" he snaps. "I'm tied up and about to be a human sacrifice for some wacky kind of fantasy monster. Of course I'm not fucking okay!"

Tobias pats his cheek. "You really shouldn't have lied to us. This would have been so much more fun for you if we didn't have to restrain you." The kicker is, he sounds like he means it. How had Jack not noticed how utterly _insane_ Tobias and his friends are? "And please don't call Sh'a'louth a monster. He doesn't like that."

Jack knows he should hold his tongue, but he can't help sniping back. "No calling the non-existent god the crazy cult is worshipping a monster. Sure, why not? Wouldn't want to upset your imaginary friend."

His bosses always told him he had a problem with sarcasm and didn't know when to shut up. They probably had a point.

Tobias gives him a sad look. "You still don't believe, do you?"

The acidic comeback is already on Jack's lips, but what's the point? He shakes his head in exasperation and closes his eyes. He doesn't want to spend his final minutes arguing. 

Footsteps echo through the hall, the rhythmic, ominous slap-slap of a dozen bare feet on stone.

"We must begin," a voice thunders. 

Jack looks up again just in time to see Sid, the cult's self-proclaimed high priest, approach him with a knife. The hood of Sid's cloak is drawn deep into his face, making him look even more sinister than usual, and he's an intimidating kind of guy on the best of days.

Jack's stomach plummets, fear pooling in his gut. "Wait, don't—" 

"Shh, don't interrupt," Tobias whispers from somewhere behind his head. His hand settles on Jack's forearm, right on top of the rope, and gives it a brief squeeze. Instead of letting go, he stays where he is, fingers loosely wrapped around Jack's wrist. 

Something about the touch is... off. 

No, that's not it. It's more like something about _Jack_ is off. Tobias's hand feels inhumanly hot against Jack's skin and his face is burning like he's running a fever. 

The acolytes have started chanting, drawing closer until they're standing in a circle around Jack's supine body, and even though it's becoming increasingly hard to focus on anything but the warmth that's licking through his veins like flickering flames, Jack is aware that this is bad. The heat, the chanting, Sid's knife gleaming dangerously in the dim candlelight.

"No, let me—" The rest of his desperate plea gets muffled by Tobias's hand, which closes over his mouth.

Sid raises the knife. His lips are soundlessly moving as if he's praying, and Jack instinctively squeezes his eyes shut, numb with dread.

The pain he expects doesn't come. He only feels the scrape of the blade, cool against his overheated skin, as it cuts through his clothing. One long cut from his navel to his neck makes his shirt fall open. A couple more along his arms, Tobias's hand an almost reassuring weight on his wrist. Then Sid moves to work on his pants, and each time he brings down the knife, Jack freezes, dreading the sharp bite of the blade, especially when it hovers above his groin. But all Sid does is effectively strip him bare, never once breaking his skin after that first light scrape along the middle of his torso.

Sid only stops when Jack's naked, his clothes in tatters around him. The priest sets down the knife, and Jack realizes that he's been holding his breath, his chest tight as he draws in a relieved gulp of air. Maybe that was it. Maybe the commissioner was right and the cult's really just a few harmless, misguided idiots. Maybe— 

But the warmth keeps spreading through his body and the chanting still goes on, a haunting, repetitive hum that makes Jack's pulse speed up, and he knows in his heart that it isn't over.

He jumps, as much as the ropes allow him to, when Sid reaches out and traces Jack's neck. Sid's finger dips into the hollow of his throat and even though the knife is gone, Jack swallows, a shiver crawling down his back as that finger slowly follows the shallow mark on his chest – down, down, down. 

Sid wraps his hand around Jack's cock, making him gasp into Tobias's hand. When did he get hard? This isn't—He doesn't—He can't fucking _think_! 

"Just relax, buddy. Let go," Tobias says, his mouth right at Jack's ear, so close that his lips brush against Jack's skin and he can feel Tobias's warm breath fanning his face.

Jack wishes he could see him and catch a glimpse of his soft, friendly features, but all he sees is Sid, with his piercing green eyes staring down at Jack and a knowing smile on his lips. 

Jack feels helpless and aroused, scared and excited and defiant, simultaneously burning up from the inside as shivers of cold make him shake in his bonds. There are more hands on him now, caressing his naked skin, feather-light touches that never linger, and it feels good, so good, distractingly good. It shouldn't. Jack knows it, beneath the haze of arousal and dizziness, and part of him wishes he could push the roaming hands away, even as he's fighting to resist the urge to follow Tobias's soothing commands. _Let go._

It's too much at once, too many emotions, too many sensations pulling him apart, and there's still that creepy chanting that just _won't stop_. 

He's teetering on the edge of orgasm when he notices the smoke. _Something's burning_ is his first thought. He makes a muffled, panicked sound against Tobias palm to alert the others, because they're clearly too deep into their freaky little ritual to notice that the house is burning down around them. But the tell-tale smell of fire is suspiciously missing, and neither Sid nor any of his followers seem bothered by the smoke that's swirling around them like a dark cloud.

That's not normal smoke, Jack realizes. A new kind of fear rears at the back of his consciousness: something darker and more primal than his earlier panic of being stabbed by a mad cult leader. He helplessly tears at the ropes again, feet kicking out and his hands balled into fists. 

Toby's and Sid's voices have joined in the chants now, Toby's soft as a whisper and Sid's deep and sonorous, the cadence and volume rising as the smoke grows denser and darker. Something materializes from within the misty black swirls, sinister and inhuman. Black eyes. A grotesque face. Fucking _tentacles_.

For a moment, Jack thinks he's hallucinating. He must be. This can't be real.

"We welcome you, Sh'a'louth!" Sid declares. "We have prepared your sacrifice for you."

Tobias gives Jack's wrist another squeeze. 

"We hope you enjoy him," Tobias says softly, and there's a second where Jack mistakenly thinks he's addressing him. But then the creature – and it _is_ a creature, not just an illusion or a figment of imagination – turns its terrifying stare on Jack and makes a humming sound that could be interpreted as _pleased_.

One of its tentacles unfurls, its tip touching Jack's cheek almost appreciatively. He almost expects it to pass right through his flesh, but it's a real, physical touch, warm and dry like snakeskin.

Jack looks up to it, beyond protests and pleas now, his mind floaty and numb. 

_Let go,_ a whisper rings in his ear, and Jack doesn't know if Tobias spoke again or if it's just the memory from before, or if maybe it was someone – some_thing_ – else's voice entirely.

He closes his eyes, and Sh'a'louth descends on him.

End


End file.
